


Never an Underdog

by talktob3cks



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Blood, Gen, Violence, don't pet the rabid cur, mentions of child abuse, tlj spolers, under utilized oc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 01:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13493655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talktob3cks/pseuds/talktob3cks
Summary: Only the fittest survive in the First Order. Hux's position under the new Supreme Leader is precarious. He is vulnerable, and his officers sense it.





	Never an Underdog

 

“Get it together!”

His father’s brutal litany was memorized before he’d buttoned the jacket of his first cadet uniform. This time, the voice and the palm were his own. Cruel, even worse true, they stung more than his red cheek. They motivated him, they always had. Proving the Commandant wrong drove him to excel in every aspect of his career, although he would never admit it. 

He’d survived on coffee, stims, and willpower in the week since Starkiller’s destruction, but he was at the edge of what he could handle. His bed had not been touched in days, probably used the same day as his last proper meal.

But pausing now meant surrender. His position under the new Supreme Leader was precarious at best. Ren had always hated him, and Hux had given him every cause to. Making an enemy of his co-commander had not seemed foolish when Snoke’s hologram loomed above them. Kylo Ren was never supposed to sit the throne, never supposed to outrank Hux. 

Too late now to make nice. At present, it seemed that effectively doing his job was the best way to survive. 

“Pull. Yourself. Together,” he snapped, picking up of the tube of pale concealer off his counter and twisting the top off. He rubbed the cold cream on his skin, methodically covering the marks. Wincing when his fingers pressed against bruised flesh, he resented the task. The last time he’d needed to hide an injury had been years ago, and in the meantime he’d worked desperately hard to avoid being in such a weak position again. 

He sneered at the cut on his lip, it would have to stay visible. He moved on to comb his hair, without his usual fastidiousness. Dropping his comb in the sink, he gave up on the few rebellious strands over his forehead, and decided he was as presentable as he could get for the upcoming meeting with the senior officers.

“Pull it together.”

***

His once loyal officers were slipping out of his influence, he could sense it. Though their ages varied, they had all grown up with the same training philosophy. Only the fittest survived, and Hux was growing weaker. As he directed the conversation, presenting ideas and asking questions, they eyed him as predators would, assessing his strength, considering their own positions. He was no longer in the Supreme Leader’s favor, devotion to him might be more dangerous than wise.

Hux was not used to having others snapping at his heels, he’d always been the one ready to pounce into position when a competitor fell. But he was clever, and well practiced at the game of military politics.

Many believed he’d obtained his power through his father’s influence, but they were wrong. Hux had crawled up through the ranks despite his the Commandant’s discouragement and sabotage. Hux had fought and schemed for every title, every promotion and commendation. He’d earned his place at the top of the Order, and he’d be damned if he’d let anyone tear him down.

The meeting concluded and he stood, piling up his notes and datapad, the trembling in his fingers reminding him it was time for the next cup of caf. Glancing up, he caught the eye of Major Barloe. Her gaze was steady, resolved, cold. Hux straightened, leaving his things on the table.

“A difficult decision must be made,” she stated.

Hux raised an eyebrow. The room stilled and fell quiet.

“Our leadership has overseen several devastating failures in the past few days. We’ve lost a super weapon and a dreadnaught. Our capital ship severely damaged, and the Resistance leaders are still at large despite multiple attempts to destroy them,” she explained, looking around, addressing them all. “ A change is needed.” 

Hux glanced to his right as Barloe’s aide approached him, hand on his sidearm.

“You are being relieved of your command, General. For the good of the Order,” the major said, smile briefly crossing her thin lips. She nodded toward her aide.

“I see,” Hux replied without surprise, now flanked by two officers. The aide drew his blaster, pointing it at the general. No one else moved, waiting to see how this would play out, not wanting to pick a side until it was certain who would win.

“Hands up sir,” he said, almost apologetically.

Hux rubbed his forehead with a heavy sigh before glaring back across the table to the Major.

The lieutenant on his left reached for the general’s blaster, Hux felt it slipping from its holster.

Foolish traitor. 

Hux slipped the blade strapped to his wrist into his hand as he moved. He swung his great coat off his shoulders and shoved it into the aide’s face. Briefly disoriented, the man struggled with the heavy fabric, giving Hux enough time to plant a side kick in his chest, koncking him back. 

The lieutenant on his other side snatched at Hux’s blaster. Hux grabbed his wrist and yanked him close, slicing the man’s neck with his knife. He adjusted his grip and threw it across the room. A stream of blood sprayed from the aide as he fell. Hux turned yanked his own blaster back from the struggling lieutenant and sent two bolts through the coat still covering him. The man slumped to the floor with a muffled groan. The other officers sat in shocked silence, the fight over before anyone else could react. A choking sound across the room drew Hux’s attention and he watched Major Barloe claw at the knife in her throat.

His jaw twitched. Sheathing his blaster, he straightened his uniform, damp with blood, and glared around the room, daring another to move against him. “Does anyone else have concerns regarding the Order’s leadership?” He snapped, his questions met with silent head shakes and murmurs of ‘no sir.’

“Excellent.” Reminding the pack his place as alpha was always a useful experience. 

Hux strode to the other side of the table, pulling his knife out of his treasonous major, wrinkling his nose as she twitched.

He pointed to a captain trembling against the wall. “Have this mess cleaned up.” He wiped his blade on his ruined uniform jacket and moved away to pick up his notes. Blood had spattered on his face, but he left it, knowing how terrifying he must appear. 

Good. 

“I shall be in my quarters until the next cycle. I can be reached by comm if I am needed.” Hux turned and marched out of the room, feeling far more confident than he had entering it an hour before.

He smiled as he marched down the hall towards his quarters. 

He’d survived, and thrived, under the reigns of the Commandant and Snoke, he would do so again with Ren. He felt certain his next appearance on the bridge would see his crew members once again respectful and compliant. 

Until then a drink, whiskey instead of caf, a shower, and a few hours of sleep.

“Well done.”

**Author's Note:**

> Evil Major belongs to me, but everything else belongs to... not me. I didn't have a beta reader, so feel free to point out any mistakes.


End file.
